hundred people; and over the nucleus of this gathering, where it
condensed into a black swarm, as of bees, there floated, not only the
dispiriting music of "The Caledonian Hunt's Delight," but an object of
size and shape suggesting the Genie escaped from the Fisherman's Bottle,
as described in M. Galland's ingenious "Thousand and One Nights." It was
Byfield's balloon--the monster _Lunardi_--in process of inflation.

"Confound Byfield!" I ejaculated in my haste.

"Who is Byfield?"

"An aeronaut, my dear, of bilious humour; which no doubt accounts for
his owning a balloon striped alternately with liver-colour and pale
blue, and for his arranging it and a brass band in the very line of my
escape. That man dogs me like fate." I broke off sharply. "And after
all, why not?" I mused.

The next instant I swung round, as Flora uttered a piteous little cry;
and there, behind us, in the outlet of the cutting, stood Major Chevenix
and Ronald.

The boy stepped forward, and, ignoring my bow, laid a hand on Flora's
arm.

"You will come home at once."

I touched his shoulder. "Surely not," I said, "seeing that the spectacle
apparently wants but ten minutes of its climax."

He swung on me in a passion. "For God's sake, St. Ives, don't force a
quarrel now, of all moments! Man, haven't you compromised my sister
enough?"

"It seems to me that, having set a watch on your sister at the
suggestion, and with the help of a casual Major of Foot, you might in
decency reserve the word 'compromise' for home consumption; and further,
that against adversaries so poorly sensitive to her feelings, your
sister may be pardoned for putting her resentment into action."

"Major Chevenix is a friend of the family." But the lad blushed as he
said it.

"The family?" I echoed. "So? Pray did your aunt invite his help? No, no,
my dear Ronald; you cannot answer that. And while you play the game of
insult to your sister, sir, I will see that you eat the discredit of
it."

"Excuse me," interposed the Major, stepping forward. "As Ronald said,
this is not the moment for quarrelling; and, as you observed, sir, the
climax is not so far off. The runner and his men are even now coming
round the hill. We saw them mounting the slope, and (I may add) your
cousin's carriage drawn up on the road below. The fact is, Miss
Gilchrist has been traced to the hill: and as it secretly occurred to us
that the quarry might be her objective, we arranged to take the asce